


Featherlight

by Hanzohara



Category: Pocket Monsters: Ultra Sun & Ultra Moon | Pokemon Ultra Sun & Ultra Moon Versions
Genre: Body Worship, F/M, For a Friend, Kissing, Massage, Non-Explicit, but someones naked so its kinda???, not really explicit - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 18:21:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15612219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanzohara/pseuds/Hanzohara
Summary: Protecting people from the monsters that they don't know exist can be particularly difficult. It's hard work and very taxing but it can have its perks when you work together and have someone to lean on when things don't go your way.





	Featherlight

**Author's Note:**

> SO! This goes out to a very good friend of mine, and I just really wanted to thank them for bein' a good friend and for a piece of work they doin'. Since there's not a whole lot for the OTP (tm) You know I had to add to it ;0

Dusk filters in barely through shuttered blinds, the final evening rays breathing their last in small bars of light that find a place on semi-cleaned carpets. Those that fall from lower spaces, closer to the window and wall are unfortunate enough to land and illuminate some matter of mystery stain that has no doubt been there a good few weeks, months who knew. One couldn’t expect too much quality from a roadside motel in the middle of Sinnohan nowhere, though one could also scarcely find the grounds to complain. Not when the motel owners so graciously offered a room to the two in the hours when absolutely nobody should be awake.

Zippers and the crumpling of clothes, the jingle of belt buckles and the knock of Pokeballs as the two undress, preparing to get some matter of sleep. Tired lilacs falter from their downturned gaze, flickering over to where **[ 02:41 ]** glares out in buzzing red against the room’s darkness. Another wild goose chase in a region that she does not belong, looking for beasts that, for all intents and purposes, do not exist to the normal person.

Sure, the occasional rumor circulates, some say they have seen beasts that stack like towers with eyes on every block, see bugs that tower over even the most surly of Pokemon with every ounce of its body rippling with scarlet muscles. Today it was rumors of some monstrosity made of cables. Quickly were rumors dispelled but the damage was done, and people were curious as people often were. So close to the nest of an _UB-03 Lighting_ that frankly, it was a miracle that the village folk were not injured.

They were not so lucky. Those same lilacs return downward, eyeing where she can just barely make out the outline of her leg, her foot and the suit pants that have bunched at her ankles.

And where she knows the makings of a nasty lightning scar will inevitably form. UB-03 was crafty, knew how to make itself at home and blend in, make its wires seem at home among the underbrush for unsuspecting enemies to step. Anabel knows well she should count herself lucky, that it was more of a shock factor than true damage. There are no searing blisters, nor permanent internal damage that are commonplace in high voltage accidents, only the lightning scar that will form and the residual numbness, only just beginning to wear off.

But it’s just one more scar to mar her body, and the very thought has her clench hands, grit her teeth. She’s been told many a time that it’s nothing, it makes her no less beautiful, and time and time again these words give her no more comfort than the last.

She worries not for her beauty _( there’s one in her life that is far too kind to let something like that stand in his way )_ , but for her life. If it was close enough to scar, it was far too close to killing her. She doesn’t think herself weak, but with how many scars she’s begun to accumulate it’s starting to dull her judgement.

Her mistake is heaving a sigh, something long and drawn out and filled to the brim with her worries and weariness, and the sudden rustle of clothes behind her is telling.

There are hands, wide and warm yet gentle, at her shoulders in a second. They press lightly, worrying and waiting for if she spurns them, and remaining a firm anchor away from her thoughts when she allows them to stay. Her second mistake.

Following the hands, there is a more solid presence behind her, her comrade, her partner, her love pressed close enough to her back that she can begin to feel hair, and can feel even puffs of breath against her neck.

“Mon amour, you are troubled.” A deep rumble of a voice, soothing and comforting in a way Anabel cannot begin to describe. She heaves another sigh, one less troubled, and leans back into the other agent’s broad chest. “And I do believe I know why. If you would allow me, I shall try to do my best to alleviate it for you.”

Her eye’s fall closed, and despite herself a tired smile finds its way to her lips. Trust the one and only agent Looker to remain his loquacious self even in the unholy hours where can’t decide if it’s late night or early morning. It’s endearing, and a trait that she finds oddly charming, but altogether perhaps… not so suited at this time. She has little energy to devote to him, and she begins to lightly shake her head.

“I can’t. Not tonight... I’m too tired.”

“Ah, but my love, my dearest. You shall leave it all to me, and I shall ensure that you are well taken care of to the very moment you rest. Just sit there.”

She can barely begin to make out the shape of his hand, no doubt gesturing to the bed before her, and she can do naught but sigh in defeat. He’s persistent if nothing else, as wonderful a quality at times as it can be troublesome. She turns, gaze turning up to the general area she knows Looker’s head to be and giving him an unseen stare before the bed creaks down beneath her weight.

The blankets are far to thin for her liking, and she gets a feeling that if she were not dead exhausted, it would have take a good deal of time to fall asleep.

In spite of her fatigue, the unexpectedness of a hand on her leg almost makes her kick out, and the sudden suck of breath is a clear indicator of her surprise. 

“Désolé, my darling. Trust that it is only me. As I have said, I shall take care of you. Lay back if you so wish, and maybe you shall even fall asleep.” And so she does, a slow movement to her elbows and then to her back, and she takes a deep breath, training her eyes upon the popcorn ceiling above.

Looker’s hands are gentle as the slide down to her feet first, lifting them that he can slide her dress pants down the rest of the way and set them aside. Where one foot reacts twitches every now and again under his hands, the other remains unresponsive. The one she stepped on UB-03 with, his mind supplies.

Then that is where he shall begin.

The gasp sounding overhead is quiet as Looker presses a soft kiss to the top of her foot. Beneath his lips, he can feel where reddened skin is raised, puffy and swollen from the lightning shock. It zigzags a way up to her ankle, branching off in various directions as electricity will, and his lips follow.

He can feel the way she is tense when he moves from ankle to skin, and his hands raise to try and knead the tension away. She claims she has regained some manner of feeling, but Looker suspects this is far from the case. A play to avert his worry, cleverly planned but far from effective ( he will never not worry for her ). His hands are calloused and rugged, from the the right sort of hands to be attempting a massage with, but he can’t quite get another pair.

Looker hums something soft, tune rumbling in his throat as he continues pressing a reverent trail of kisses along Anabel’s leg. Smooth, only just beginning to grow hair from her last shave because Looker has to admit, they’ve been here in Sinnoh for a while and though his knowledge of the region is high, it still took days to track down the Ultra Beast.

But they are undeniably beautiful, as is every single part of the woman.

He passes her knees with a kiss to each one, the second to her other leg, and he continues his line of kisses there. This leg has feeling, and it makes it all the more rewarding when her quiet breathing goes quicker, just that little bit for Looker to know he’s doing something right.

On another day, given that he’s made his way up to her thighs, he may very well have added nips to his repertoire, a not so innocent love bite, but tonight is not about that sort of passion. Tonight is so that Anabel can rest easy. Tonight is so she can be distracted from that which troubles her, and so that Looker can show for her just how much he adores her.

So when he gets dangerously close and he can feel Anabel hold a breath, he simply moves over the cloth of her undergarments and presses a long kiss to her waist.

And from there he moves his hands up, gently keeping a grounding touch of hands to her sides as he moves his lips over her navel and kisses there too. Rather than rise up her stomach though, he moves again to the side, the one he knows to have the largest of her scars.

He cannot see it in the darkness, cannot feel it any different from the rest of her skin, but he knows well where it is. He’s seen her body enough that he knows where the further reaching point of the scar is, and he presses a long kiss to it. As he kisses along the marred skin he parts his lips in a murmur, quiet that he does not disturb his slowly drifting goddess.

“You are beautiful, my love. And so very strong. Wear them with pride, for every one that you have is an attempt on you that they failed.”

“Robert…”

Anabel’s voice is faraway now of her own accord, a testament to how close to rest she is. His lips move to her hand, turning in his own so the palm faces up before pressing a kiss first to her palm. Then down each finger, one kiss for each pad.

Just like the rest of her body: perfect. No callouses, nor ruggedness like his own hands, for all that befalls the hands is instead taken up by those gloves she has. Looker is no Arceist, but he is willing to ask for those above to keep her from harm’s way, as he does most every night. Not as though they answer all the time, as they chose not to today, but some days there are things he thinks are just too good to have been from luck, so he continues every night.

Anabel’s voice is no longer words, but addled murmur at this point, far too taken by the fatigue of the week’s work to keep herself up. She is deeply lucid at best when she can feel the prick of stubble against her ribs, feel the gentle pressure, gentler than even before, as he presses a kiss to each breast, and then some. When he makes it to her neck, she is all but lost, eyes fluttering closed long ago and breathing evening out at some point after.

And when he presses a featherlight final kiss to her lips, she is well and truly at rest.


End file.
